How To Save A Life
by BookwormSH96
Summary: Sherlock has a heart condition and needs and transplant... John is worried, he needs his friend to make it. But how far will one friend go to save the other...


**Disclaimer: I dont own any of the characters or the lyrics. SHERLOCK characters belong to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And the Lyrics belong to The Fray.**

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**Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend **

**Somewhere along in the bitterness**

**-The Fray (How to Save a Life)**

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John stood on the roof top of Bart's, standing at the edge he looked down, somewhere in the building below laid Sherlock, laying on life support machines. The street below was empty, an occasional car went passed. He stood thinking about all the things he had gone through the last few years, Ever since he had met Sherlock.

He had moved in with a total stranger, but that stranger soon became his best friend. They had gone through everthing together; solving crimes, blogging about every experience they went through, Sherlock even faking his own death. Then months later the friend he thought had died turned up in the living room of Baker Street.

_John had at first thought it was his imaginitation, but it when John went over to him and his fist actually made contact with his sharp cheekbones, John realised that he wasn't an illusion. _

_Sherlock had stood, rubbing his face, "Ow what was that for John?" he had asked, knowing full well why. _

_In reply he had just embraced his friend, "You are alive." _

_"Yes John I am alive." Sherlock had replied. _

That was all they had about it, nothing more. Sherlock had got straight back to work. Solving crimes and putting criminals behind bars. John eventually found out why he had done it, fake his own death. Turned out it was for him, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, it had been either he jumped or they died. John felt extremely guilty about that, but Sherlock refused to talk about it.

Lestrade had obviously been shocked when he received a text from Sherlock saying he was back and ready for action. But he was glad to have the man he could rely on back. The man who had helped him with so many cases.

Life had gone on fine for nearly a year, Sherlock solving cases, John following like a lost puppy, blogging about their every case.

But on night after chasing a criminal down alleyway after alleyway, Sherlock suddenly stopped:

_"Sherlock what is wrong." John asked, skidding on the floor so he didn't crash into him, and knock him to the floor. _

_"I can't breathe John." Sherlock had said gripping his chest. _

_John rushed to his friends side, "I will call an ambulance; they can come and take you to the hospital." John said retrieving his phone from his coat. Sherlock's hand came and swatted the phone away. _

_"I am fine John." Sherlock said straightening up. "Let's get back to the flat, seeing it seems we have lost our man. I will have to figure where else we can apprehend him from. But I can do that back at the flat." _

_Sherlock started walking, but he only got a few steps before he collapsed on the floor. "Sherlock!" John yelled, running the few steps to his friend he pulled out his phone and called an ambulance. _

Turns out Sherlock's heart muscles had given up momentary causing his body to give up. He stayed in the hospital for days on end. Test after test, scan after scan. Sherlock was oxygen trying to get as much oxygen in his blood as possible.

When he first woke up in the hospital, he had tried to pull the needles out his hand, the heart scanning pads off. John had been at his bed side when this happened. He stopped Sherlock, and hit the emergency button. Within minutes doctors and nurses had come and managed to put Sherlock put sleep.

John had called Mycroft; they had discussed what was to be done. Mycroft was technically Sherlock's next of kin, so he should have been there. But he refused to come, not out of spite but because he didn't want to have to sit and watch his baby brother like that.

Mycroft spoke to the doctors over the phone, he told them to keep Sherlock sedated until they knew what was wrong or his condition improved.

John stayed by Sherlock's bedside, refusing to move. Mycroft said John could have gone home for a few hours, got a change of clothes, and slept in a comfortable bed. He had said Sherlock wouldn't have known any different.

But John refused, he got Mrs Hudson to bring him a few changes of clothes every now and then; she would bring clean clothes and take the dirty ones home to wash. Mrs Hudson tried to get John to eat, but he only ate the bare minimum, enough to keep himself alive.

Over the last few months since Sherlock had been put in hospital, John had lost a lot of weight; he now only weighed barley 12 stone. But he was managing to keep surviving.

Sherlock was sedated for a fortnight before the results from his tests came back; the doctors brought Sherlock out of his sedation. Making sure that his wrists were secured. So that when he woke he didn't try to remove any of the medical equipment.

That day was when it hit them, what was wrong;

_Sherlock started to come around, slowly waking up from his drugged sleep. John sat watching, as Sherlock struggled against his restraints. "Sherlock, it's okay. Stop it, your okay. You are in the hospital." John said nicely. _

_Sherlock mumbled. "Jonn. Wat happening?" His words were slurred, he was still half asleep._

_John chuckled, "You are very funny drugged up." Sherlock turned in the bed. _

_"John. Why am I tied down? Why I am I in the hospital?" Sherlock said as the last of his medication wore off. He had fully come around. _

_"Sherlock you are in the hospital because you passed out. You heart stopped momentarily. They have done lots of tests. They are going to give you the results. And the reason you are tied down is because last time you woke up, you tried to pull out the needles and the other pieces of medical equipment. So the doctors and Mycroft decided it was best if you were kept sedated until we got the results or your condition got better." John explained, stumbling on a few of his words. _

_"Okay. How long have I been in here? Can't be that long you are wearing the same clothes I last remember you wearing, the night I collapsed. And they are practically clean still." Sherlock asked. _

_John shook his head, "No Sherlock you have been in here over 3 weeks. Mrs Hudson has been bringing in new clothes for me." _

_Sherlock looked shocked. Neither of them knew what to say. As if on cue the doctor walked into Sherlock's room. "Ah, Mr Holmes you are awake. Has Dr Watson explained to you what is happening?" _

_Sherlock nodded, "I take it you have some results for me." _

_"Ah yes Mr Holmes, while you have been sedated we have conducted a series of blood tests, ECG's, and also an ultrasound to give us a clear picture of the heart. Well we have been monitoring the results. And they all lead to show that your heart is getting weaker by the day. The muscles keep giving out, not enough oxygen is getting into your blood stream, and not enough oxygen is getting to your brain."_

_Sherlock looked towards John rather worried. John was thinking the doctor's words over carefully. _

_"We have discovered that you have Cardiomyopathy which you may have developed from any drug abuse of over the years, to be specific you Hypertrophic Cardiomypathy. Your heart is abnormally large and the muscles are becoming weak trying to pump blood through the heart. A team of doctors have discussed what the best option is, and at the moment the only thing seems to be a heart transplant. Normally we could treat this with medication, but your condition has got too far and it is developing far too quickly. So I am sorry, but without a suitable donor in the next couple of weeks, your heart will just give out... I think it is best that I leave you two to discuss things and take the news in." The doctor nodded, and then left the room quietly. _

_"Go for the transplant Sherlock. Having a possibility of a suitable donor coming up in the next few weeks is a lot better than just giving up." John begged he wanted his friend to carry on fighting; he didn't want to just lose him. _

_"But John I would rather just give up now... It is the best option..." Sherlock started. _

_"No, it is not Sherlock! Don't you dare give up!" John snapped, tears streaking down his face. "The world needs you Sherlock!" _

_"But..." _

_"But nothing Sherlock, you have a common blood type, for goodness sake it is o common, that I have the same blood type as you! Something is bound to come up in the next few days! Let alone the next few weeks! So please don't give up Sherlock! Ignore the statistics and the facts for once, and just go with your instincts!" John said looking at his friend. _

_"I have upset you haven't I?" Sherlock said. _

_"I am sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have snapped. It is your decision to make; I have nothing to do with this. I will go tell the doctor you don't want the transplant." John said turning towards the door. _

_"John stop, tell the doctor I will take the transplant." Sherlock said from his bed. _

_John stopped by the door. "Excuse me? You said not 5 minutes ago that you didn't want the transplant. _

_"Well John I have changed my mind. You made me think about it for a minute and like you said it is better than giving up." Sherlock tried to smile. _

_John smiled back. Then he turned and walked out the door to talk to the doctor._

From that point, it had been a waiting game. Days passed nothing. Sherlock remained optimistic, for the first time in his life he didn't think about how low the chances were with finding a donor. He just took each day it came.

John however didn't take it quite as easily as Sherlock did. He hoped every morning the doctor would come in the room and said that they had a donor. Even though it was horrible, John at some points wished that someone would die, so there was a donor.

He tried to fill his time; running small errands for Sherlock.

A week passed and Sherlock had got a lot worse. He had serve chest pains and passed out several times a day. John was getting worried they were running out of time.

On day while out running an errand for Sherlock he past a doctor's surgery, in front window sat the "We need donors." poster. That day John signed up to be a donor, it was the least he could do with his friend laying in a hospital bed, waiting for someone.

10 days had passed since they had been told they needed a donor, Sherlock's heart stopped for 3 minutes. John had never been so scared in his life. The doctor pulled John out of the room for a chat;

_"As you have just seen, Sherlock is getting to the last few days he can survive without a donor, so I think it was best that you got him comfortable, just encase... Well you know..." He said looking at John with sorrow in his eyes. _

_John's throat had blocked up, they were giving up hope of a donor and were looking at the worst case scenario. He swallowed the bile in his throat, "Okay I will." _

John couldn't do it. He didn't do it. He had thought about telling Sherlock but he couldn't do it. He wanted he to make it the world needed Sherlock. They didn't know how much they needed him but the world did need him.

John on the other hand, in his own eyes he wasn't needed. He wasn't so special; the world could live without him.

And that is what had brought him to the roof. He had been up here for the last few hours. He had told Sherlock he was going home for a while and that he would be back later. But he had come here instead. He sat on the roof top, writing a small to Mycroft, the doctors and a letter to Sherlock.

Now he stood at the edge of the roof top, knowing that this was the only way to save his friend. He looked back at the roof top door once more. Then he jumped.

Sherlock woke up in his hospital bed 6 hours later. He felt groggy but he could breathe properly. The last thing he remembered was a doctor giving him some pain killers. He opened his eyes and took in the room a doctor stood and checked the paper work at the end of his bed. A sound beside him made Sherlock turn.

Where John usually sat by his bed side sat his brother twiddling a piece of paper in his hands.

Sherlock was confused. "Mycroft what are you doing here? Where is John?"

Mycroft looked up from the piece of paper in his hands. "Sherlock. You are awake. How are you feeling?"

"Fine thank you Mycroft. What have I missed?" Sherlock asked, knowing there was something he didn't know.

"You have had your transplant a suitable donor came through. You passed out just as it came in so they took you straight down to theatre. They said if the donor hadn't come in at that moment, they don't think your heart would have restarted. Like a miracle really..." Mycroft said his voice cracking.

"You're hiding something Mycroft. What is it? And where is John?" Sherlock asked, still confused. He should be over the moon he was no longer sick, no longer dying. But something was wrong and Mycroft refused to tell him. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft turned the piece of paper in his hands again. "I think you better read this. It will explain everything. I will wait outside for a moment." Mycroft said handing over the piece of paper, which turned out to be an envelope. He got up from the chair and walked out the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Sherlock looked down at the envelope in his hands. It had his name written on. John's handwriting...

Confused, but with a huge feeling of fear, Sherlock opened the envelope and pulled out a letter...

_Dear Sherlock, _

_If you are reading this then my planned has worked; I am no longer here and you are alive and well. Well that was the plan, whether or not it worked is the question. _

_Why did I do this? You may wonder. Well Sherlock, you once killed yourself to save me, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. (Well not quite but we believed you were actually dead for a while...) You did it to save us, and now I am returning the favour. _

_Unfortunately, unlike you, I will not be returning. _

_The world can live without me. I am just another nobody. But the world cannot live without you. They might not know it but mankind would have to deal with a lot more criminals on the streets. _

_After being shot in Afghanistan and being terrified of not making it, you would have thought I would be scared of what I am about to do. But surprisingly I am not scared or even nervous. _

_But that is because I know it is my time, that this is the reason I was put on this Earth, to save you. When we first met, I was to guide you with your moral principles, and now to save you. _

_So how do you say goodbye to someone you have just given your heart. (No romantic pun intended.) Well here is my attempt:_

_Thank you Sherlock, for showing me how exciting life can be, showing me a different side to life, and showing me what a true hero is, (No matter what you say.) _

_Don't feel guilty in any way about taking my heart. Go live life to the fullest. And if you truly feel like you need to give something back to me then do this for me then; _

_Try and remember at least some of the lesson's I taught you; about timing, sensitivity and appropriateness of your comments and for goodness sake do not make me regret my sacrifice for you by going and killing yourself or making some silly mistake which leads to you getting yourself killed. _

_Oh and maybe try and make up your differences with Mycroft, it will do the pair of you some good. _

_Your Loyal Blogger,_

_John Hamish Watson._

The piece of paper fell from Sherlock's hands as he finished reading the last few sentences.

'_Your Loyal Blogger' _

Was that how John thought Sherlock had seen him? A man that just wrote about Sherlock's cases?

Sherlock's hand was suddenly against his chest, his hand resting over his heart... No, not his heart... John's.

'_Don't feel guilty in any way'_

Ha! How did John expect Sherlock to NOT feel guilty in any way, shape or form?

Sherlock had felt slightly guilty when he upset someone whilst working on a case... Well John had made him feel guilty. But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

His body began to betray him, as tears fell from his face, rolling off his sharp cheekbones.

At that point Mycroft came back into the room. He hated seeing his brother like this. Seeing what Sherlock was going through. The loss of a friend. What made it was that Sherlock knew that in some ways he was the cause of John's death.

Sherlock looked up at his brother and gestured to the seat next to the bed. Mycroft went over to the chair and sat down

"Did you know about his plans?" Sherlock asked looking at his brother.

Mycroft shook his head, "I found out when I received a phone call from the hospital. When I got here I was given this..." Mycroft said as he pulled a envelope from his coat, and handed it to Sherlock. "It was requested that I made sure you received his heart and that I also look after you..."

Sherlock read through the small note in John's hand. "But why allow it knowing I would hate the idea as soon as I found out?"

Mycroft sighed. "How could I deny a dead man his final wish? John wanted to make sure you were healthy so I carried out that wish. But even you couldn't deny someone something like that."

Sherlock nodded. "Where did we go wrong Mycroft? What caused us to be this way, barley speaking?"

"We both know full well what caused it, but I guess that we shouldn't have. And I guess we are going to discuss it? And I assume try and fix it?" Mycroft said.

"Like you said even I couldn't deny a dead man one of his last wishes." Sherlock said thinking back to John's letter.

Mycroft and Sherlock sat and talked for hours. Not just for John, but for their selves.

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As Sherlock recovered her got back to work; Lestrade brought in a case file and Sherlock would tell him what he could get from it.

One case, a murdered family, a mother, father and 3 children, Sherlock loved it, final a interesting case, a clever murderer, but not clever enough. Sherlock went to tell Lestrade how much he loved the case, which it was interesting and final gave him something fun to do.

But the words sat on the tip of his tongue, something stopped him.

Sherlock tried again but the words fell short. Sherlock caught sight of the letter from John on his bedside table. Then he remembered something John had said to him;

_"Having fun?" John had asked. _

_"Starting to..." Sherlock had replied, smiling at the cleverness of this case, he was no longer bored. _

_"Maybe don't do the smiling... Kidnapped children?" John had prompted. Sherlock ignored the comment and got back on with his work, the smile wiped from his face. _

Children... Not a good thing to say when there was children involved. John wouldn't approve if he said what he wanted to.

That's when Sherlock realised. His moral compass was still with him, just guiding him from deep down.

Deep inside.

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**And I would have stayed up with you all night **

**Had I known how to save a life.**

**-The Fray (How to Save a Life.) **

**A.N Sorry rather sad story... But anyway sorry if medical symptoms and things are slightly inacurate, they might not be quiet right... But any way please read and review! **


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